Unconcealable
by wildegreenlight
Summary: There were some things that just couldn't be contained or concealed, not with any amount of magic. No matter how frightening it was to face them, suppressing them only brought heartache. There were still a host of doings and feelings to sort out, but now the box had been opened, and once so, could never be closed.


**A/N I humbly offer this gift to the genius that is coyotelaughingsoftly! I was equal parts thrilled and terrified when I found out that I was your Secret Santa! Please enjoy 3000+ words of angsty, fluffy pining from our favorite 6th year dorks!**

 _Perfect-bloody perfect!_

When he first began to open the package, he hadn't a clue what might be inside, but after the robe fiasco of fourth year, Ron Weasley was more than a little wand-shy about what might be lurking in any box from home. He had almost breathed a sigh of relief when he saw his father's handwriting on a piece of parchment on top, unfortunately the feeling was short lived.

 _Ron,_

 _Hope the term is wrapping up nicely for you. Ginny mentioned in her last letter that you are doing a great job again this year as Keeper, we're so very proud of you! She also mentioned that she didn't think that Hermione would be coming for Christmas, so I'm sending you the gift that you made for her this summer in case you want to give it her before she leaves for the holidays. You really outdid yourself- I know she'll love it!_

 _See you tomorrow,_

 _Dad_

His heart dropped, like a stone, into the pit of his stomach: it was a feeling he'd gotten used to over the last few weeks. He should just put the lid back on the package; he knew what was inside just as well as he knew that nothing good could come from looking at it, absolutely nothing. Feeling as if he had been Imperiused, he watched as his traitorous fingers drew back the charmed paper that was keeping the contents safe. He hadn't forgotten about it, not really, but it was just one of those things that he had stuffed down into the vault of shite he'd rather not think about.

He'd tried last year to get her a gift that would show her...well, at the time he hadn't been exactly sure just what he wanted to show her, but he knew she deserved something better than a box of poorly wrapped sugar quills. In retrospect perfume hadn't been the best choice; her reaction had been less than enthusiastic, but in all fairness, he'd never known her to wear perfume. So he had been on the look-out for the remainder of fifth year for any clues to what she might really like as a gift. It had been anything but easy. The only thing she ever talked about wanting was books and parchment, and those would be the daftest gifts in the history of Christmas. He had all but given up on any hope when inspiration had presented itself in the last place he had thought it might: McGonagall's office.

 _She had called all the Gryffindor prefects in for a meeting, basically warning them about Umbridge's new regime. Afterwards, he'd noticed Hermione lingering around a bookshelf in the back corner of the office._

 _"_ _Miss Granger, may I help you?" her voice was warm, but her exhaustion evident._

 _"_ _Sorry, I just couldn't help but notice this," Hermione started to pick up the object she had been admiring, but then thought better of it, "this wooden box is lovely, it reminds me of one that my grandmother had."_

 _"_ _Oh, that?" McGonagall crossed the to the shelf, picking up the trinket with affection, "My own grandmother gave me this when I was about your age, said every young witch needed one."_

 _Ron came closer, drawn in by the look of delight on Hermione's face. "It's very nice Professor, what does it do?"_

 _"_ _Do, Mr. Weasley?"_

 _"_ _Uh...I mean, it doesn't have to_ _ **do**_ _anything I guess, I just wondered why it was so necessary," he prayed silently that this wasn't one of those things that his mum whispered to Ginny about, those were usually right embarrassing._

 _"_ _Calm down, it's nothing nefarious, I can assure you. While muggle versions are more than likely just for decoration, this one has a few magical advantages," always ready to give a lesson, McGonagall opened the lid and showed them the inside of what appeared to be an empty box. Smiling at their confused expressions, she reached inside and pulled out a large stack of letters, tied together with green ribbon._

 _"_ _My grandmother's most certainly did not have a concealment charm. What's the other?"_

 _"_ _I think it's an extension charm of some sort."_

 _"_ _That's correct, Mr. Weasley; a very tricky charm that one is, but dead useful for keeping things private," she tucked the bundle back inside the box and returned it to its place._

 _As they made their way back to Gryffindor Tower, Hermione had been the happiest he had seen her in weeks. She'd even shared a very amusing story about the time she had tried to sneak a package of biscuits out of the cupboard at her grandmother's house. She had grabbed the container by the wrong end and had dumped them all over the kitchen floor. Her grandmother had laughed so hard that she'd forgotten to scold her precocious granddaughter. The thought of a tiny, three year old Hermione breaking the rules in the name of extra biscuits brought him a joy he couldn't quite explain._

Ron reached inside the disheveled package on his bed removing the small wooden box that his father had so thoughtfully placed inside. He had to admit that it turned out nicely. All those hours inside the shed, learning to use muggle tools-Arthur had insisted and his son rightfully agreed that it was an important part of the gift-had provided him with more than a few scrapes and splinters, but it had been worth it to see the finished product.

He had also underestimated how enjoyable working with his Dad would be; when you grow up in a large family, having a parent all to yourself for any amount of time is a luxury. Ron had relished the easy way that they worked together and had deeply appreciated that his father hadn't made him feel the least bit awkward about spending so much time making a gift for Hermione. He hadn't even cocked a quizzical eyebrow when Ron had first approached him with the idea; he had made his son feel that it was the most normal thing in the world to do.

But now, as he traced the scrolling designs that he had so carefully carved, he felt anything but normal. The pride he'd felt in himself when he'd finished: knowing that he had crafted it the muggle way, knowing that he had then mastered the complicated spells which added the magical elements, had been reflected in his father's eyes. And while that feeling had been priceless to him, it had paled in comparison to the reaction he had envisioned from Hermione herself. There was nothing like the look she gave him when she was really impressed.

Some people threw around praise so much that you knew they didn't mean it. Every little thing you did or said made them go on and on about how wonderful you were. And you might think that would be brilliant, _there certainly had been a time when he would have thought that,_ but in reality the shine wore off that galleon pretty quickly.

It wasn't that way with Hermione. When she told you that the introduction on your potions essay was really good, you could bet your sweet arse that it was top-notch. When she giggled at one of your jokes, you knew it was really funny. When she looked at you in the Room of Requirement when you cast your first Patronus, her eyes wide and sparkling, and gave you that little nod, and later on the way back to the common room when she laid her hand on your arm and told you how she had thought yours had been the best…

 _Fuck!_

What good did it do to think about that anymore? She would never look at him like that now. Any look he got from her now would be icy sharp _really good quidditch players_ or, worse yet, the hollow look of hurt and disappointment. What was there to be done? For a fraction of a moment he considered the gift in front of him. He should have just given it to her for her birthday; at the time it hadn't seemed right. They never got each other real gifts for their birthdays, so to give her something so, nice, so _personal_ felt like a much bigger step than he was ready to make. His decision had also been aided by the fact that their friendship had seemed so awkward at times. She always seemed so preoccupied around him, and when Slughorn had started his little club he'd secretly wondered if she would even like his handmade gift at all.

That wasn't fair, Hermione had never made him feel that way, not really. She never gushed over expensive things like some other girls did. If he were completely honest with himself, he knew she would really like it _even if she did fill it with letters from that git Krum!_ What if he gave it to her now, after all? A peace offering? Would she accept it? Would she conjure those birds to peck it to pieces?

No, he couldn't give it to her, not now, not like this.

What should he do? The thought of giving it to someone else was so preposterous that it was less likely than his punching McLaggen in his ridiculously perfect jaw and taking his rightful place as Hermione's guest at Slughorn's party tonight. As hopeless as he felt right now, there was still enough a spark of hope that one day, they would be friends again. They were still friends even now, were they not? They would eventually talk again; the Scabbers fiasco had lasted longer than this, right? Surely it wouldn't take another innocent creature being threatened with death to bring them back together this time, would it?

"Ron? Are you in here?" Harry's voice preceded him in to the room.

"Yeah," Ron hastily returned the box to it's safe wrappings and stowed it in his trunk.

"You disappeared after lunch...all good?"

"'Course it is, why wouldn't it be?" He forced his face to form the smile that he knew would ease his friend's mind.

"Alright," behind his glasses, Harry's eyes were skeptical, "you coming down in a bit?"

"Sure, I just had to, uhm, get some things together for the hols, go ahead, I'll be on in a tic."

Alone again, Ron let out a sigh. While it wasn't much of a plan, it was the best he had: just lay low, and hopefully she would be over it after the break. _A really great late Christmas gift just might set me up for a nice birthday surprise in return._

Ron fidgeted, looking at the new watch on his wrist. He hadn't been surprised that his parents had gotten him one, all of his brothers had gotten the same thing when they'd turned seventeen, but he was impressed by just how nice it was. And even though it was a brilliant gift, it paled in comparison to the one that he was waiting to arrive.

Waking up to find Hermione at his bedside had been worth all seventeen of his birthday wishes put together. Even better, she had been coming back everyday since then. She said it was to help him catch up on his classwork, but to be quite honest, there was not much work getting done. He had never seen her less inclined to force him into revision; their "study" sessions mainly consisted of talk that was anything but academic. Harry was a safe subject, as was the doings of the Weasleys _it had been nice to see Fred and George hadn't it?_ He had slipped once and made a less than complimentary remark about McClaggen, holding his breath until she had surprised him by joining in on his criticism. He knew, or at least he _thought_ he knew, that she wasn't dating him, but he was unsure if she were on friendly terms with that pompous ape. Ron had done a very poor job of hiding the ecstatic grin that followed her visceral reaction.

They talked about everything and nothing...well everything but _the thing_. They had both apologized, in very broad sweeping terms, for their behavior during the last few months, but both seemed reluctant to test the newly tied tether that was holding them together. More than anything Ron wished he could erase all that had happened, or even just find the words to put it right.

 _Not bloody likely Mr. Fake Sleeper! Why can't there just be a spell for this? Girlfriendo-reverso! Fancius Revealius! Maybe there's a chapter in that book Fred and George gave me…_

The familiar creak of the opening door brought him out of his reverie. Ron literally held his breath, _could just be Pomfrey_ , until he recognized the cadence of Hermione's steps. He hurriedly adjusted the bedclothes and did his best to appear at ease, to calm the thunderous beating of his heart as she came into view.

Ron held up his arm, tapping the face of his watch in mock admonishment, "Where have you been? S'not good to keep someone in my fragile state waiting." He added a dramatic half swoon, delighted to see her roll her eyes, huffing at him in a way that he had learned to admit that he found quite intoxicating.

"Well, someone as delicate as you are needs their rest. Rumor has it that you sleep most of the time," she let her eyes meet his, a boldness showing that he hadn't seen from her in months. For a split second he thought they were headed for a row, but her face broke into a mischievous grin.

"Oi! If I had been asleep, I'd be awake now. No one could sleep with you tromping in here. For such a little thing, when you walk it sounds like a flock of hippogriffs!"

She was on him in a flash, books abandoned to poke him in the side and swat playfully at his arms. He tried, but not too hard, to fight her off, and before long they were both breathless from laughing. Ron realized, quite suddenly, that she was lying across his chest and he had his arms around her in a way that was anything but platonic.

Hermione seemed to have the same revelation because he could see her cheeks flood with color; however, neither of them shifted their position. He was overcome by just how right it felt to hold her, and how amazing it was that, as someone who had very recently felt that he'd had more than his fill of snogging, he wanted nothing more than to snog this girl senseless. He knew in that moment, even though he had suspected it for months, that he would trade all those other kisses for the one that hung between them at this moment.

His brain scrambled to catch up to his hammering heart, but it found nothing to leave on his tongue but a feeble, "Sorry."

She blinked at him slowly, seeming to remember herself, "Oh, it's alright, I know you were only joking," she pulled back from him and sat on the edge of his bed.

"Yeah, but not just about that," he looked at her pointedly, "I meant ..about everything."

"Oh," she glanced down at her hands, fiddling with a thread on her jumper, "you don't have to do that..you've already...I mean we both...it's fine."

It was better, he knew that, but it wasn't completely fine, not yet. He wasn't sure when it would be, but he knew it was worth waiting for. Maybe he could help it along, just a little. He reached over to the bedside table and retrieved the package that Dobby had very recently fetched for him.

"I know the outside looks a bit rough, it's been in my trunk, but this is for you," he nervously handed her the gift, thankful that the inside contents had not been disturbed.

"For me?"

"Yes...it's you Christmas gift...better late than never, right?"

"But I didn't...I mean...I don't have yours. And I didn't even get you anything for your birthday!"

"That's alright, think I had all the excitement I could stand on my birthday, and being your...friend... again is more than enough."

"I feel the same way," she emphasized her words like a ray of light through a prism, showing all the colors that had previously been unseen. She then began to open the parcel, moving back the charmed paper to reveal the contents inside, "Oh Ron!"

"I hope you like it. It's like the one you saw in…"

"McGonagall's office."

"Yeah...like hers. I know it's maybe not as fancy as hers. I mean...I think it turned out okay...Dad said it was a fine job, even if all those muggle tools are kinda barmy," he was full-on rambling, but he couldn't stop.

Hermione just sat, staring down at the box. When she looked up at him finally, her eyes were wet, "You...you _made_ this?"

"Yeah, Dad helped a little."

She opened it gently, whispering, "When?"

"Last summer," his own eyes were now damp, and his shoulders bore the weight of lost time.

"It's...beautiful...it's too much!" There were proper tears flowing down her cheeks, and Ron felt a stirring of pride for having evoked such a strong _positive_ response from her.

"Open it! See, the concealment charm makes it look empty," he grabbed a roll of parchment from Hermione's pile and placed it inside the open box, "even when you put something in it."

"Extension charm too?"

" _Undetectable_ extension charm," he quipped back.

"Brilliant, Ron! That's a complex spell!"

"Thanks, I could show you how to do it. Only takes a bit of practice."

"I would really appreciate that...I just...this is really the nicest, most thoughtful gift anyone has ever given me...thank you doesn't seem like enough," the sincere look of adoration on her face fanned the tentative flame of hope warming his heart.

"As long as you like it, that's all I need for sure," he reached for her hand; she anticipated the movement and met him more than halfway, grasping his own tightly.

"Like isn't the right word," her voice came out softer, but more powerful, "I'd say _love_ is more accurate."

"Love?" She was killing him, finishing the job that poison could not.

"Definitely, love."

And for a warm, lazy time they sat alone, hands clasped, thinking about how there were some things that just couldn't be contained or concealed, not with any amount of magic. No matter how frightening it was to face them, suppressing them only brought heartache. There were still a host of doings and feelings to sort out, but now the box had been opened, and once so, could never be closed.


End file.
